


Undercover, Under Covers

by Emery



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Commissioned Work, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Talk, F/M, Money, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Undercover, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 08:59:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emery/pseuds/Emery
Summary: Soldier 76, known in another life as Jack Morrison, doesn't expect much when he's sent on an undercover mission to what may or may not be a drug-trafficking, money-laundering strip club on New Year's Eve. It turns out that those aspects of the club aren't what draws his attention, because Widowmaker is on a mission of her own.The way she carried herself said that she was all business, but 76 knew otherwise. He already hated how the other men had their eyes on her, but he remembered that jealousy wasn’t his type and that she would be no more than a one-night fuck, even if she was Talon’s greatest sleeper agent. He let himself be content watching the way all that fancy lace hugged her body, the way the corset drew her thin hips even smaller. The delightful curve of her hips and her breasts above the bodice nearly had him drooling into what remained of his whiskey—he could only imagine what she would look like without any clothes at all.





	Undercover, Under Covers

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written on commission. I appreciate the opportunity to write this, and I'm truly happy that the commissioner enjoyed it! I hope that others find pleasure in it, as well.
> 
> Title from Kehlani's "Undercover."

76 didn’t much know about this whole reconnaissance ordeal. Yeah, he could do recon, sure. Hell, he could do anything he damn well pleased, but this certainly wasn’t his _specialty_ or anything. It didn’t matter if this was where the important characters might reside, might hide, might come to frolic in their stolen wealth. It didn’t matter if this was where big money changed hands, along with weapons or other cartel in the back rooms. It was still a strip club, and that was that.

Maybe he would happen across something of importance, or maybe this whole assignment was a friendly way to say, “Get yourself laid once and again, old man. You fucking deserve it.”

Narrowed eyes carefully scanned the crowds, just as they had been doing for the past two hours. He sipped at his drink—another overpriced whiskey on the rocks, because the woman serving the alcohol was trying _just_ hard enough to make him pity her, even though she wasn’t anywhere near his type. At least the little giggle that chirped between her glossy lips suggested one of them was having a good night. With a few more drinks and a whole lot of lapse in judgment, maybe he could end up having a good night, too.

The music’s beating pulse turned to something more basic, a heavy bass line with little to no melody layered atop it, and the lights above the stage dimmed to allow a rotation in the dancers.

76 harrumphed under his breath, leaned back in his booth, and crossed his arms over a broad chest. Good riddance. None of them had caught his eye, anyway, even after they had been dancing for long enough that sweat glistened on the curves of their breasts and their inner thighs. Now that it was nearing midnight, the club was likely bringing out the best it could offer for the occasion. His tastes were rather _particular_ , so he had learned to expect little when it came to a typical strip club’s lineup that pandered to a common aesthetic.

At least there were a couple more glasses of whiskey in his system than there had been during the first rounds of girls. If nothing else, the alcohol might ensure he found a lady to his liking. Then, this night wouldn’t be a complete waste.

They really had to stop sending him on these useless-ass missions.

The music picked up its pace again. About time. Whoever was in charge of the lighting in this place made sure that the ladies’ entrance was as showy as possible, the same way that his scantily clad waitress had made a ridiculous act of pouring him top-shelf whiskey every time he asked for it. This club was all about being over the top, probably to hide whatever the hell else was going on beneath the surface.

Correction—whatever the hell else was going on beneath the surface _every night but tonight_.

76 had eyes. He knew what to look for. This was his life, and it wasn’t like he was new to the game. There was genuinely _nothing_ to be found tonight. If it hadn’t been for the empty bed waiting for him and the new lineup of girls strutting towards the front of the stage, he would have given up and gone home. But it wasn’t every night that he had a chance to enjoy himself like this, and he was already _here_ , anyway. He might as well find a decent girl to enjoy, even if she wasn’t perfect. There was enough booze in this place to help him think any lass was pretty enough for a fuck. It was only a matter of time—

_Well, I’ll be damned._

Up until then, 76 hadn’t been _serious_ about his desire to screw around that night—well, not entirely serious, anyway—but he was nothing _but_ serious now. He watched her slide across the stage towards her pole with all the grace and beauty of a venomous snake. No, a _spider_. Well damn, whatever she was, she was looking too fine for words when she hoisted a toned thigh up onto the pole and swung herself around it without an ounce of effort.

He let out a low whistle and gulped down half of his most recent drink in a single tip of the glass, not because he needed the liquid courage to get himself horny for this woman, but because he wanted it to be gone already so that big, round ass of hers wouldn’t tip it over when he coaxed her to come down to his table to play.

The way she moved was incredible. The other girls around that night had been stilted, their movements practiced and memorized, kept to the book. _She_ on the other hand, fluidly dished out one surprise after the other, whether it be the swing of a leg, the bend of her waist, or the jiggle of fantastic breasts. No wonder, too. 76 knew exactly who this woman was.

Their gazes met, both sharp and searching, unlike the glazed-over stares of the other customers at this joint and the fake-ass “teases” that the dancers threw around without discrimination.

She smiled at him.

The other girls had smiled at him, too, but not like her.

They communicated tomes in only a glance, but she didn’t let on that she was interested in him. Her acting was incredible, as were her control and her patience. While 76 was already sporting the beginnings of a hard-on beneath the table, she was content to continue her gorgeous, improvised routine and savor his eyes on her body.

The way she carried herself said that she was all business, but 76 knew otherwise. He already hated how the other men had their eyes on her, but the moment his face grew hot, he remembered that jealousy wasn’t his type and that she would be no more than a one-night fuck, even if she _was_ Talon’s greatest sleeper agent. For the moment, he let himself be content watching the way all that fancy lace hugged her body, the way the corset drew her thin hips even smaller. The delightful curve of her hips and her breasts above the bodice nearly had him drooling into what remained of his whiskey—he could only imagine what she would look like without any clothes at all.

Before the night was done, he would know. He was confident enough in his skills, and in the way she had looked at him like she wanted to eat him, that he would go all the way with her.

He spent the rest of the next few songs trying to decide which part of her he liked more—the black patent leather stilettos, the stockings that hugged her shapely legs and let just a hint of pale blue skin show through the sheer black, the laces on the back of her corset that ended at the small of her waist in a tight, ribboned bow above the split of her ass. As if he could honestly decide what part of her he liked best when he hadn’t even seen the best parts, he kept his examining eyes on her. If nothing else, she would at least understand that she was to come directly to him when she was able.

That moment couldn’t possibly come soon enough.

Eventually, it did.

The sway of her hips when she walked towards him was even better than the languid movements of her body up on stage. Sure, it may have been sexier when it was set to the rhythm of a heavy, electronic beat, but _this_ was just for him. She stood in front of him for barely a second before he gripped her tiny waist in strong hands and pulled her forward to straddle one of his thighs.

She was the first to speak. “Happy New Year, 76.” Then, a silent and feigned apology when she let her delicate hand hover over her mouth. “Oh. How rude of me. Happy New Year, _Jack_.”

The way she said his name, one he rarely heard anymore, in that thick accent had his cock aching even more in his pants.

“Excited to see me, yes? Maybe not for the reasons I might have expected.”

“You think I wouldn’t fuck you in a heartbeat?” Jack said in his toneless, gruff voice.

Widowmaker shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. It is hard to know which officers have an ounce of self control left in them, these days.” Her teeth glimmered, white and perfect, when she lowered herself onto him so that the heat of her crotch grazed his thigh and gave him a taste of what she could do to him privately.

“Any luck, Amélie?” Jack chose to ignore her little dig at the organization and focus on the real reason they were here.

“None. Do you really think I would be grinding my pussy against your leg if I had any _actual_ work to do?”

Maybe Jack wouldn’t have chuckled if it wasn’t for the whiskey, but this time, he allowed himself the pleasure. “At least it turns out I haven’t entirely wasted my New Year’s Eve.”

“It is New Year’s _Day_ , now,” Amélie corrected. She faked a pout and threw her head back to tug the string from her hair. “What, is there someone else with whom you might have spent such a special night?” Gleaming dark hair spilled around her neck and shoulders, and while it was a shame that it hid some of her pale blue skin, she might as well have been hiding an aphrodisiac in her locks with the way that Jack wanted to grab onto her right then and carry her off, away, somewhere, anywhere but here.

This time, he chuckled less than he scoffed. “Maybe just another slut. Probably one less beautiful. Someone unimportant to me.”

He had already felt the sting of her nails grinding into the sensitive pulse of his neck when the word “slut” exited his mouth. Clearly, he did not have her permission to address her as such.

“So I am important to you, Commander?”

“You _know_ what I mean.” He had had enough of her smart mouth. It was about time she did something else with it besides mouthing off to him. Between calloused thumb and forefinger, he grabbed her jaw and yanked her towards him. It wasn’t a kiss that he wanted, but rather to make it clear that he wasn’t to be fooled with that night, even tipsy and sitting in a strip club with nothing better to do. He caught her plush bottom lip between his teeth and clamped down just enough to tug a bit, let her know that he wouldn’t be shamed tonight.

Jack earned himself a low growl in return, from deep in her throat, and her nails cut a little bit deeper into his biceps, where she held herself steady while grinding her pussy in his lap and laughing at the way his cock tented his pants.

“I would think you would know how to be more subtle,” she said, and he responded with a simple,

“You fucking wish.”

They both knew it was a bust tonight. Hell, they had both known that it was a bust since the moment they walked through the damned doors to this place. That’s how the world worked, wasn’t it? Nothing happened when one needed it to happen, and now Jack could brag to the rest of them that he spent his New Year’s on a failed reconnaissance mission he had saved only by nailing the hottest assassin Talon had ever produced in all of its miserable existence.

“Come on,” she said, none too soon. “Make a big show of giving me some of that cash I know you have stuffed in your pockets, and maybe I can take you somewhere a little quieter.” With one finger, she traced along his jawbone and poked the tip of his nose with a playful little push. “What do you think, hm?”

“I think you’re slow to just now be suggesting it.”

He fished some undesignated amount of cash from his pocket, the same way he had done when he bought his last drink. After a while, the amount of money didn't matter so much as the fact that he was pushing more alcohol into his system. Just how much had he given the server for that last drink? Too much, probably. Now it all made sense—why she had made such a show of herself, letting a pert nipple slip from her too-low, too-tight top as she lifted her arm to pour the Jameson into his glass. It was all right, he supposed. He was paid well enough, anyway. It wasn't like he couldn't afford this.

Amélie humored him by shoving her tits forward and rubbing her pussy against his thigh with even more gusto than when she had first lowered herself to such a precarious position atop him. Jack purred, a low, guttural hum in his throat that signified his appreciation for the finest female body he had seen maybe in his entire life (and he had seen his fair share). "Fucking gorgeous," he murmured. Would she enjoy the sensation of a crisp bill slid along her chest, followed by his teasing fingers that plunged into the soft depths of her cleavage? What woman _wouldn't_ enjoy such a thing?

If the slow, back and forth motion of her hips meant anything, it was that she adored every second of it. Jack did, too—between his fingers and her skin, the money warmed and crumpled, and maybe if he did this long enough she would even _smell_ like that sweet, woodsy satisfaction of a new pack of bills. He let the note come to rest within her bosom, trapped within the bodice that pushed her breasts up into a perfect swell.

"That'll do," she said.

He hated every second that her body was no longer touching his own. It was like she could sense that, somehow, because even as she lifted herself from his lap, she let the tips of her fingers linger along his strong arms, across a broad chest, and through a swath of soft, greying hair. Then, her hand caressed his shoulder, down his bicep and to his wrist, where she encircled it in a grasp just a little too strong, or rather just strong enough. She led him towards the back of the club, where the music was quieter and there were fewer drunkards drooling over the women on stage.

The private rooms were lavish, just like the drinks and the outfits and the price tags on every piece of this joint. Deep red curtains held back with golden cord framed a plush sofa lined with accents of sturdy mahogany. The cushions themselves were wrapped in something like silk, the same fabric that was tied around the pillows on either end of the lounge. Lights were low, and Amélie lit a candle or two in the corner of the room while Jack took it all in—the ambiance, the luxurious fabrics, the deep colors that just oozed sex and temptation even without Amélie standing amongst it all. Most of all, he took _her_ in. His eyes didn't leave her for a moment as he let himself fall onto the middle of the sofa, relaxed, legs spread, ready for the attention he had paid for. He watched her body move, the way the light of the candle flames danced around skin that didn't look like it had been touched by combat. The color was admittedly odd, but Jack rather liked it. The pale blue was refreshing, different, and sexy as hell when she finally decided to show him a little bit more of it.

When she came to stand in front of him, she lifted one eyebrow. The action asked a silent myriad of questions, and Jack answered "fuck yes" to all of them.

She began the process then, warming herself up by swaying her hips to the beat of the music she had chosen and taking small, calculated steps towards him. "What a treat," she said. "Soldier 76, right here in my clutches. I could do whatever I wanted to, right now, and you would eat right out of my hand."

_We'll see if you're saying the same thing when I'm balls-deep in that sweet pussy._ Jack couldn't say whether or not he had spoken the words aloud. His attention was rather focused elsewhere.

Amélie fell into her dance all too easily, like she was programmed for _this_ rather than merciless killing. With each graceful movement, she grew nearer to him, until she was on his lap again. This time, she rode his thigh like her life depended on it, hard enough and long enough that he could feel the dampness through thin, lacy panties. He wanted to make some quip about how she was already so excited for him, but it seemed a shame to ruin the moment with words. Her body was poetic enough. His own speech would taint the pieces she wrote with movements alone.

She steadied herself with one hand on his shoulder, leaned back in his lap to allow him a full view of her breasts and the delicate woven patterns of her corset, and then god _damn_ the arch of her throat and the cascade of hair that fell backwards and pooled on the floor like the darkest of nights. Slowly, she lifted herself back up from her core, her head the last thing to right itself so that she could meet his gaze and shoot him one of the most riveting looks a humanoid being had ever contrived. In that moment, it was unclear if he was her prey or if she would be his. She didn't leave Jack much time to ponder.

Her back was to him, now, finally giving him the view of that perfect ass that he had wanted from the moment he watched her walk out onto the stage. Her legs were thick, strong, powerful, and the lingerie did an ungodly job of accentuating the sweet junction between her ass and thighs. He lost himself in imagining what it would be like to grab her in both of his hands, let his fingertips knead into that powerful flesh that housed muscle beneath soft and supple curves.

And just like that, she left him again. It took every ounce of Jack's self control to not leap from the couch and pounce on her to make sure that she didn't escape.

Somehow, he managed to let her saunter over towards the pole in the middle of the room, too far away from him. Any distance was too far. "That fucking smirk," he said under his breath when he caught a glimpse of the way her pouty lips stretched into a smile.

"Only happy I can make a man so desperate for me." Even her _words_ were a taunt, her tone lilting and musical.

"Show me what you got, sweetheart." For now, he chose to ignore the rest of what she had said to him.

She hooked one leg around the pole and spun all the way around for him, hanging off and letting her body glide with its momentum. The tips of her hair grazed the floor before she swept herself back up against the pole and then higher, higher, climbing it in a way that demonstrated every ounce of lean muscle in her trained body.

Jack whistled. His eyes could barely decide where to land. There was so _much_ of her, and god, there would be even more once she rid herself of that damned lingerie.

"You look," Amélie paused to swing around the pole again, then grip it between her thighs and lean back to look at him. "Impatient." Her arms reached out beyond her, towards Jack, and she made a show of the way her back arched and she could pull herself back upright so effortlessly.

"That's got to be easier without the corset."

"You'll help me untie it, then?"

Like a cat, her toes hit the floor, entirely silent, and she cocked her head to one side while she waited for an answer.

Jack scoffed. "Have to spell everything out for you, don't I, princess? Get the hell over here, then."

He wasn't sure if she was _actually_ moving so slowly or if he really _was_ so impatient that each of her tiniest movements seemed to last minutes. At last, she turned her back to him again and bent over, her ass right at his eye level, before settling in his lap so he could make short work of the corset ties. He pulled and tugged at them with not a care in the world if something tore or pulled. The outfit was delicate, but _she_ sure as hell wasn't, and he cared much more about what lay _beneath_ the lingerie than the lingerie itself.

With the ties loosened, Amélie drew in a deep breath and sighed it out with relief. Jack tore the clasps open, and the piece fell off of her to reveal entire planes of pale blue back. Just as he leaned forward to let his lips graze her shoulder blades, she launched herself forward, off of his lap, and back to the pole.

"Thank you," she chirped. "It will be easier to dance, now."

"Like you were having any trouble before."

And just when Jack thought that it couldn't get any better, it did. Without the constraints of her corset, her body flowed like a river around the pole. From one pose to another, her movements were seamless and practiced, and thank _fuck_ he could finally get a good view of her bared breasts. Soon, the view wasn't enough. He may or may not have been salivating a little just at the thought of grabbing those firm, perky tits, one in each hand. He had big hands. He wondered if they would be big enough to _really_ grab a hold of her.

"Hungry?"

"You know what I'm hungry for," Jack said.

She punctuated a final twirl around the pole by slipping her shoes off, one by one, and tossing them vaguely towards Jack. "You want me to cut my dance short for you?"

"Don't fucking cut anything short. Just take your damn clothes off while you do it."

Amélie tutted at him with patronizing little clicks of her tongue. "I was getting to that. Your old age has devastated your self control."

Gruffly, he replied, "Never had much to begin with." No, it wasn't entirely true, but they both knew that Jack wasn't talking about the self control and patience needed in combat, out there in the real world. Here, in this universe, where the dim lights allowed for some fantasy and separation from reality, Jack didn't _need_ all of his training or the ability to sit, wait, and analyze. This was the one place he could act on instinct alone, like an animal, without a thought as to the consequence.

He watched her own hands roam her body, much more gently than _he_ would the moment she was within arms’ reach of him. Her own fingers and long nails splayed across the curve of her hips, one thumb tucked into the waistline of her panties as her hands kept traveling down, down, taking the underwear with them. For a split second, Jack's greedy eyes lighted on her slit, and then the fabric was covering her again, released from her thumbs with a little _snap_. Her hands traveled back up her body then, towards her breasts, and she squeezed them the same way that he wanted to. Slowly, rhythmically, she pushed them together to accentuate her cleavage, bent down towards him to allow another, better angle, and finished by lifting a couple of fingers to her mouth.

She sucked the tips of her fingers, one at a time, like the entire world had paused for her. Her other hand never left her breast, squeezing and kneading herself until she couldn't hold in her little grunts of satisfaction any longer. Her fingers slicked, she plucked at her nipple, let her fingertips glide over it to spread the gleaming saliva and ease her movements; if her tits looked that good when they were slippery, coated in her body's own juices, he could only imagine her cunt.

Amélie only left her breasts once her nipples were satisfactorily perked. The same fingers around which her tongue had danced slipped down into her panties and she moaned.

"Soaked, aren't you, baby? Pussy all wet, huh?”

Amélie only pursed her lips at him, smart and cocky. Of course, she wouldn't deign to give him an answer when he already knew that it was true. That was just like her.

She stretched her arms over her head before sitting opposite Jack, on the edge of the bed across the room. One leg tucked beneath her, the other laid out on the mattress, she bent forward to prove her flexibility. Her fingers touched her toes while she let him watch every ripple of power within her body as she stretched like a cat who sleepily watched its prey. As she straightened, her hands caressed her own calf, slid beneath her knee, and encircled her thigh. With deft fingers, she unclasped the clip holding the garter to her stocking and slipped her fingers within the elastic band that hugged her upper thigh. With her back straight and her cheek against her knee, she turned to gaze directly at Jack while she pulled the garment down to reveal more of that skin, pale and unearthly, like the mystery of moonlight.

With the same sexy elegance, her other stocking disappeared, and then her garter belt and the straps still clipped to it, and there was nothing left but a tiny pair of panties hugging her luscious ass. One piece of clothing, so small and thin, separated the very core of her being from Jack's gaze and fingers and tongue and cock—

And then that was gone, too.

"Now _that's_ more like it," he said. "That's _fucking_ perfect. Damn, you're gorgeous."

Every inch of her was as smooth and clean as her arsenal of weapons. He could tell that she took great care in everything she did and everything she _was_ —her work, her body, even her breathing was still steady and so soft that, had Jack not been looking for it, he might not have been able to tell that she was still breathing at all. He was seconds from pushing himself off the couch to tackle her onto the bed, pin her down and finally have his way, but she wasn't ready for that yet.

"I am not quite finished. I will tell you when I am."

He tried not to let it bother him too much—that he felt so obliged to obey her, that he was slowly suffocating under her spell.

"I did not finish my dance properly, when we were outside," she said.

Jack's chest heaved with a sigh, and he crossed his arms, waiting and lifting a single eyebrow to let her know to bring it on.

Now, with nothing adorning her body but the smooth tresses of hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, Amélie brought herself to him and timed the sway of her hips with the music. He watched her hands roam over her own body again, and she sunk to her knees at his feet. Her hands left her own body in favor of his. Just as deftly as she had freed her stockings from the garters’ clasps, she made quick work of his belt buckle and the front of Jack's pants.

"You won't mind if I ask you to dance with me, _non_?"

Jack didn't know about that. He wasn't much of a dancer, and if she meant that she expected him to—

"Oh, _fuck_." The sound was more a growl than made up of any actual words, but "oh, _fuck_ " was at least what Jack had _meant_ to say when she took his cock in her hand and guided it from his pants.

“Maybe I should have specified that it is _this_ I want to dance with.” Amélie didn’t laugh, but her eyes did all the laughing that her voice didn’t. Jack couldn’t decide if it was frustrating or refreshing to be teased the way she teased him. Even though there was no emotion in this, it was still, for lack of a better word, _fun_ , and fun wasn’t something he had the pleasure of enjoying all too often.

He was already hard, had been for sometime, and Amélie smiled the way that only a predator could when she devoured his member with her eyes.

“You go right the fuck ahead, then.”

Yeah, Jack liked this. This was good, even if she was brainwashed into an emotionless void. Maybe it was better that way. It certainly made her more powerful, and Jack wasn’t used to a woman who could fight back in the bedroom. It was good exercise.

As if his cock wasn't already stiff enough, Amélie just had to lay herself across his body and shimmy down to place a chaste kiss atop the tip. Well, "chaste" certainly wasn't the word, but it was something like that—close-lipped and quick, a little peck that spoke volumes of what was to come.

"Damn."

She raised a single, well-groomed eyebrow, questioning.

"No, no, it was a _good_ damn. Fuck. Don't stop."

She didn't. Well, not for long, anyway. Every now and then, she would pull off of him to continue her dance in his lap. One time, when his dick was hard enough to stand straight on its own, she even straddled his lap to let the head graze against her pussy. She was already slick enough that, combined with the coat of saliva she had left, the tip slid easily along her slit.

Of course, he wouldn't be so lucky as to have her bury his cock within her just yet. His eyes fluttered shut, waiting and ready for her to ride him, but she was already back on her knees again and pursing her lips above his cock.

"Come _on_. Fuck, if you're not going to—" Jack swallowed his words when she surrounded his dick with the fullness and warmth of her lips, then let herself slide off slowly enough that a gossamer strand of saliva trailed between it and her lower lip. "If you're—If you're not going to ride me, at least swallow my fucking cock, already."

Amélie tutted at him again. "Oh, my little soldier. How you amuse me." Then, without even so much as bobbing her head to acclimate to his length, she took him all at once until the sharp tip of her nose grazed the coarse hairs of his abdomen.

"Oh, _damn_. Oh, damn, damn, _damn_." He didn't _need_ to hold her there, as she seemed to be talented enough to do so on her own, but it was instinct to lift his hand to the back of her head and hold her head down on him. He could hear her drawing in sharp breaths through her nose, but he wanted more. "Swallow. Swallow around my cock."

She did, and _oh_ it was good. Her throat tightened around him just right, with the pressure and the heat that he needed to get close to the edge. He didn't want to finish yet, though. No, he had other plans for that moment, when he would reach his climax and watch his seed shoot in thick strings over her face. When the pulsing of his cock proved too much to bear and he couldn't hold back his ascent to climax any longer, he yanked her off of him by her hair and wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock.

Amélie only smirked at him and made it seem effortless to regain her breath.

"Impatient," she observed casually. "And yet you keep yourself from coming when your body so clearly desires it."

Jack's chuckle was strained in his throat. "I'm not stupid enough to end this so soon."

When Amélie had been dancing, circling the pole, stripping and teasing as she pleased, Jack had allowed her to be in control. Now, he finally let himself pounce—a reward for the remarkable restraint he had shown thus far.

Once his hands were firm around her waist, it was simple to throw her onto the bed. She tossed the pillows and various decorations aside, because they would need all the space they could get. Within seconds, Jack made use of that space the most perfect way he knew how—with one of her thin wrists in each of his hands, he spread her across the mattress, her arms widespread and above her head. Then, he admired the piece of art he was to ravish. She lay beneath him, ample chest heaving with impatient breaths, her hair spread out all around her in strands like a halo of black light.

_Fitting._

"I won't bother asking if you're fucking ready. I know you've been ready from the second you pushed this hot pussy of yours against my cock out there." Then, under his breath. "What a slut."

This time, he let her newest title slide with a satisfying hiss from between his lips. There was no sign of protest, not like the first time, but it wouldn't have mattered. Jack would call her whatever he damn well pleased. He had _paid_ for her, after all.

He would make her a slut for him. It was only a matter of time, now. As much as she had tantalized him all night, it almost didn't seem real that he finally had his chance to put his hands on her body and his lips against the heated pulse of her neck. She gasped when his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just beneath her ear, she hissed when he tugged her earlobe between greedy teeth, and she all but fucking _whimpered_ when he traced his tongue along the shell of her ear. "How long has your cunt been dripping for me? Since you saw me from up there on stage? Since you saw me hard in my pants?"

Jack savored every noise—the hitches in her breath when he prodded her pussy lips open with probing fingers, the slick sounds of her folds and her core when he slid one finger inside, up to the first knuckle. He craved the knowledge of what her juices tasted like, how slippery they would feel against his tongue. He would know soon enough.

For all her emotionless splendor, it was simple enough to read Amélie in the bedroom. Maybe that was just Jack's experience, rather than any lapse in her cold expression. He read her body like an open book. He memorized the exact way to move his finger to make her hips lurch up from the bed, just like _that_. He discovered where to press, just how deep and how hard, to make her gasp. Then, he slid another finger inside her and learned all over again. They continued this game, punctuated now and again with filthy whispers into Amélie's ear while Jack worked to bring her closer and closer to Heaven with his fingers inside her.

He waited until she was rocking against him and whining in quiet little mewls before he removed himself from her entirely.

"Poor thing." If Jack hadn't been so turned on, he would have laughed at the way her entire body seemed to deflate with loss. Maybe it was cruel to tease her, but he planned to make up for it.

Down her body he traveled, gracing every inch of her skin with the same teeth-grazing and open-mouthed kisses that had left wet spots and spotted hickeys on her neck. He paused at her breasts, because how could he _not_ , and nuzzled his stubbly cheek against the smooth mounds of flesh. Carefully, he eyed the goose bumps as they rose on her breasts, the skin around her nipples pebbling while the nubs themselves grew hard, engorged, erect. Suckling one into his mouth was even better than he had imagined it could be, and her delighted gasp only sweetened the pot.

The tip of his tongue darted across the nipple in his mouth, circled it while he sucked it with care. Rolling it between his teeth earned him another satisfied sound, and while he could have stayed there all night, pinching the other nipple between his fingers and kneading her breast in his hand, he had somewhere else to be. Again, he found himself amused at the little sound of loss when he released her nipple from his mouth with a slick _pop_ and continued his journey down. Amélie wasn't ticklish—not a surprise—which meant he could take his time across her ribcage and her stomach, then at the junction between her inner thigh and torso. The skin there was soft and more than a bit wet thanks to Jack's ministrations moments ago.

He dragged the flat of his tongue along her slit without hesitation and didn't make himself wait any longer to pry her open with his mouth and lap up the juices between her folds. Her clit was already engorged, swollen with lust, and Amélie moaned when his lips grazed it. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes, _there_."

As if to say, "I'm the only one making demands, now," Jack immediately removed himself from her clit in favor of wandering down to poke the tip of his tongue inside her. She tasted even better than he had imagined she could, warm and slippery around his tongue. He felt his cock twitch with the thought of how it would feel to be _fucking_ the place where he wriggled his tongue. If it was this good in his mouth, he could only imagine—

Then, without warning, he lathed his tongue along the entire length of her pussy again, sure to press deep into her folds and slurp up the slick products of her desire. Just like he had adorned her breasts, he suckled her clit between his lips and gave her the satisfaction of flicking his tongue back and forth across it, barely touching the bundle of nerves there, coating it in a layer of his saliva and spreading the liquids gently with his mouth.

He teased her like that for what could have been an hour. Time seemed relative now. Jack had never understood mankind's obsession with the progression of time. Like tonight, for instance—the New Year's countdown had been rowdy and celebrated, even in a luxurious club like this one where nothing should have mattered but sex and money. While everyone around him cheered and kissed and fucked, he had sipped his whiskey in silence. Sure, he was fucking now, but not because it was a new year, not because time had pushed him a little nearer to his grave. Time wasn't something he cared about.

These moments with Amélie were hard and rough and sexy, his own miniature eternity to savor.

Eventually, she grew restless, and so did he. His cock throbbed, heated and swollen with arousal, because dammit, he wanted to be fucking that hole instead of tasting it. He wanted to come on her gorgeous face and watch her lick his spunk from the corner of her lips.

A decorative bowl of condoms adorned the nightstand beside the bed, a handy convenience that Jack took advantage of. There was no attempt to be sexy, no slow tear of the packaging with his teeth or something else as ridiculous. It was faster to use his hands, even though his fingers trembled in anticipation as he slid the condom over his length and lifted Amélie by her knees to line up his cock with her pussy.

He didn't ask if she was ready, but he knew that she was.

"Fuck." The word was more a slow hiss of breath let out between his teeth when he guided the blunt tip just inside. He pushed, carefully at first, and she swallowed him up with all the velvet heat that he wanted and needed. There were a few more moments of gentleness while Jack made his adjustments, but he wasted no time in pushing inside her to the hilt, then pulling out all the way only to slam inside her fully for the first time. She cried out, a sound that held a bit of surprise nestled within its lust, but once Jack settled into a rhythm there were only the regular moans that he elicited whenever his length pushed inside her just so.

Now that he was in control, Amélie fell mostly silent. Jack did most of the talking, filthy dialogue rather than sweet nothings ringing around the room. "You fucking like that, huh? Yeah, even _you_ love the way a thick cock feels inside ya. Tell me you like my cock in your pussy. Tell me you love when I fill you up."

Although his movements were far from careful, his pace was still slow and concentrated enough to allow Amélie a moment between moans. In bits and pieces she stammered out his demands in that French accent as smooth as the silk bed sheets. "Yes, yes—I like your thick cock. How could I not like it, hm? You fit perfectly inside me, _non_?"

"Yeah," Jack breathed. "Fucking perfect."

As much as he wanted to let himself fuck her ragged like this until he reached his climax, the last thing Jack wanted to do was rush this. He would have her all night if she would let him—already, they had determined there was nothing better to do. And how many times in his life would he be able to do what he pleased with the Widowmaker? Seeing her unravel beneath him was everything he wanted, and yet he wasn't fooled for a second. He knew that she still held some control. He knew that this was an act, just fun for her. He knew she didn't _really_ feel anything, save for the raw pleasure of having a strong man hold her down and fuck her until she could feel nothing but _full_.

That was fine. Jack didn't feel much, either. He didn't need to, not tonight. It wasn't about emotion. It was about raw, primal instinct.

"Hands and knees," he growled. One or two seconds passed, not long enough for her to react on her own, before he easily turned her body over himself. As incredible as her legs were, her ass was _almost_ better, and it had been too long since he had been able to admire it. He found her hole again, more easily this time, and slid himself inside in a single motion. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I like this."

With one hand, he steadied himself against the small of her back. The other hand he filled with flesh, leaving imprints on her asscheek and admiring them before covering them in a full handprint. His palm came down, swift and powerful while he fucked her, and he could tell by the way the goose bumps returned to her skin that she relished the sting of pain.

Sensation. This was all about sensation.

"You know you have the best _fucking_ ass I've ever seen?"

The sound echoed throughout the room when he landed another blow, open-palmed, against her heated flesh. "Looks better this way, with a handprint."

She turned her head to look at him from the corner of her eye, and he watched a smirk curl the corner of her lips—a smirk he wanted to disappear, melt back into a slack-mouthed "o". In this new position, it was easy to grab a fistful of her hair and _yank_ while he slid in and out at a pace growing more and more furious.

"You're going to fucking swallow my come." It wasn't a question or an inquiry of preference—only a gruff demand. "Fuck, your ass is good. Your pussy is good. You're so fucking good."

With her head pulled back, her cries were no longer muffled in the mattress. The air was hot, heavy, filled with the scent of sex, and Jack was close. _God_ , he was close. He fucked her harder, faster, his pace unsteady and his thrusts erratic while breaths heaved from his mouth amidst a slough of filth. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, _fuck_ yeah—"

All at once, he was flipping her again, grabbing her by the shoulders and throwing her just the way he wanted her, climbing atop her and straddling her neck while he pumped his swollen cock in his fist.

He wanted her to swallow him—he had known that much almost as soon as he saw her that evening. He _also_ wanted to see his spunk coat her face. The blue would look good mixed with some translucent white, he thought. And, although it wasn't as if he couldn't orgasm more than once in one night, why not have both in one go if he could? As his fist worked furiously at his cock and he watched her licking her lips beneath him, he decided to finish on her pretty face and make her eat it afterwards.

"Close your fucking mouth," he commanded. He was almost too winded to speak, and he could tell that she was trying not to laugh at the breathlessness of his desire. "I'm going to cover your face, yeah? Come all over you—" He grunted as he neared the edge. "Come all over and make you—make you— _fuck_."

Jack couldn't hold it anymore. He released himself onto her, and his load was a big one. Five or six shots of come decorated her lips, her nose, her cheeks—some even made its home in the strands of hair that stuck to her forehead, glistening with sweat. Jack didn't bother trying to be quiet. He wanted her to know just how filthy he could be and how horny she had made him, how hard she made him come.

Amélie lay obedient and still. He was almost surprised.

His eyes remained half-lidded throughout his afterglow, and he rode the high of orgasm while continuing to straddle her so that his heavy cock smeared the semen across her face.

Most women might have been embarrassed, but Amélie's cheeks did not flush with shame or even with arousal. Her body was still calm, entirely under her control, so different from the fucked-out whores that Jack was used to.

"Good girl," he said. "Get your hand up there. Feel what I did to your pretty face."

With her lips still pressed shut, Amélie dragged one finger along the length of his cock and followed it to its tip, where it lay on her cheek. Then, she circled her fingertip in one particularly large clump of come that had pooled on the cheek, near the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah. Yeah, now eat it. Taste my fucking come."

Even before his command was finished, she was opening her lips to pull her finger inside, come and all. She cleaned herself like that until every drop was gone—wiping it from her face and then sucking on her come-covered fingers. Jack watched, enraptured. He wasn't sure, but he didn't think that he blinked even once until she was finished.

He must have been staring at her for longer than he realized, because the sound of her voice surprised him. "Did I miss a spot? Or have I simply rendered you stupid?" Her words weren't meant to cut—he could tell that she was only teasing, despite the fact that every phrase she spoke was surrounded by edges as sharp as the planes of her face.

While Jack's journey back to reality was slow, he pulled himself off of her and let himself fall limp onto the bed so that they lay side by side.

He thought that it might take a while to recover fully, to enter back into the world that was celebrating a new year full of crime and murder and war—

“Again?”

With a single word, tone lilting up in question, Amélie brought him back from that line between fantasy and the world he would have to face tomorrow.

It wasn’t tomorrow. Not quite yet.

**Author's Note:**

> I value each and every comment and kudo! Although written several months ago, this was my first time writing for Overwatch. Now, a few months later, I actually own the game and am curious to know what readers think of my first interpretation of these characters! Thanks in advance for your support, and thank you most of all to the lovely person who commissioned me.


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